6. Noah

6

This morning, of all mornings, I have a slight hangover. What's going to exacerbate my shitty mood is the fact that Peyton starts her shots today. To add to my mea culpa stemming from last night's unplanned gathering, is the fact my sister-in-law, who I love dearly, isn't starting her shots today because of some twin sisterly bond I will never understand. I get what Elle's doing, but I'm not sure if I'm on the same page as her or not. Peyton wants to be pregnant at the same time as her sister. I get it. Under the circumstances, it's highly unlikely. IVF isn't a guarantee for anyone. Especially us. Regardless of the doctor being overly positive, both women might not be successful. Elle's never tried to get pregnant, and Peyton's never been able to get pregnant. I've read the pamphlets and done the research. I know how all of this could turn out.

I drag my sorry ass out of bed and hit the shower before facing my wife. Knowing her as well as I do, she'll be downstairs in her yoga room, meditating. When we bought the house, the room was used for storage and didn't have a purpose. In Portland, she started taking yoga classes, but here she has the space to have her own room. We hired a contractor to knock out the wall and replace it with glass doors which open to a recently renovated garden for her. I have my man cave and she has hers. I actually love going into her room. As soon as you walk in, it's like nothing else matters in the world.

Her room is very calming. She followed the Feng Shui guide and created an area that was inviting. Where she'd feel content. She has a laughing Buddha in the corner to help her with fertility.

After my shower, I dress in gray joggers, a blue Portland Pioneers sweatshirt and slip my feet into a pair of runners I'm paid to wear. I'm not trying to hide who I am, at least not today. It's already hit social media that Peyton and I were in the clinic, and I figure this is a good thing. People will see that we're normal, just like them. We struggle too.

Indeed, I find my wife in her studio. The door to her studio is open and I stand there, resting against the door jamb. This morning, her long brunette hair is down, the length almost reaching her waist. She never talks about cutting it, even when it annoys her. Peyton keeps her eyes closed, but her lips form into a smile. She knows I'm watching.

In this instance, I'm glad she doesn't open her eyes to look at me. It gives me a moment to stare at her, to take her all in. To remind myself how fucking lucky I am that she chose me to be her partner. Everyone's a fool if they think I chose her. She was destined to be mine from the moment I met her. I was the idiot who waited too long to realize it.

While she sits there, crossed legs and absorbing the energy in the room, I picture her with a growing belly. With my child growing inside of her, knowing my wife is nurturing and caring for the little human that we so desperately want. I don't even care how many children we have. Hell, if she wants a football team, I'll happily do everything I can to give her one. If we're graced with one, then that'll be enough, too. I just want to see her blossom as a mother. To have the moments she sees in magazines and on TV or with our friends. The longing in her eyes when she sees an expectant mother rubbing her belly. Hell, I want that too. I want to feel my son or daughter kick. I want to read bedtime stories to her stomach and tell my little guy or gal how fucking awesome their mother is. Aside from this, I'm at a loss on how to get my wife pregnant. To give her the one thing she wants.

I inhale deeply to stop an impending wave of tears. Being strong for her is my job and one I take very seriously. The alarm on my phone chimes and I pull it out of my pocket to shut it off. "We gotta go," I tell her.

Peyton finally opens her baby blues. They sparkle as she looks at me. Another smile, a wider one this time, spreads across her face. "You can't wear those sweatpants to the clinic."

I look down at them, looking for any stains or holes. "Why not?"

She laughs, stands, and stretches. Doing so highlights her figure. She used to be tiny, sometimes too thin, and she read that eating a balanced diet of whole grains, healthy fats, and proteins would help her body get ready for pregnancy. Honestly, I like not seeing her hip bones or her ribs showing.

Peyton turns, bends over, and looks at me through the space between her legs. The sight of her plump ass in those tight ass pants does something to me. I feel the stirring, the beginning throb of my growing erection. I clear my throat and change my stance.

She smirks and giggles. "That's why," she says. Peyton rights herself and comes toward me. "No one in the office needs to see what my husband's packing." To emphasize, she cups my dick and gives it a squeeze.

"Not fair." I don't bother to move. "You're touching me and yet as of today I'll be banished from being inside of you."

Peyton shivers. "It's for the greater good."

I refuse to disagree with her. "Mhm." Learning toward her, I kiss her. "We need to go."

"You need to change."

"Humor me."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine."

When we walk into the clinic, people look. It's a natural reaction. The door opens, you look to see who's coming through. Thankfully, today isn't as packed as it was when we first came. There are fewer men, which I sort of understand. They're probably working or aren't needed for whatever their wife is having done today. One woman is crying in the corner, and I try not to stare, but end up looking in her direction more than once, wondering why.

We aren't sitting but a few minutes when Peyton's name is called. With my hand on the small of her back, I follow one step behind. The nurse, who didn't introduce herself, takes us into a procedure room. She tells Peyton to have a seat in the chair. I sit next to her and clasp my hands in my lap, and then unclasp them and reach for Peyton's. Even though we are here to learn how to administer her shots, I'm nervous. There's no way Peyton can give herself shots, even if she tells the nurse otherwise. I know her. She hates needles, and the sight sometimes results in her hyperventilating.

"You're going to administer two shots a day for one week, and then you'll come in everyday for your last week of shots," the nurse says. "Over the course of your daily in-person monitoring visits, we'll do bloodwork, pelvic ultrasounds, and we'll track your cycle. This is the time where we'll make any necessary adjustments to your medication. If everything is where we want things to be, we'll do the trigger shot. You'll go home and the anesthesiologist will call you, walk you through what to expect at your appointment. You'll come in, and we'll retrieve your eggs."

"When will Peyton come in for the retrieval?"

"Within thirty-six hours after the trigger shot."

I glance at my wife and smile. "Then our baby is made in a dish?" I say this mostly to her, but the nurse answers.

"Yes. In less clinical terms, we take the eggs and let the sperm have their fun."

Peyton snorts. "I definitely like your version better."

The nurse, who still hasn't told us her name, laughs. "Sperm know what they're supposed to do, so we let them have some fun. Now, for the shots."

"Uh, if you can show me, that'd be great," I tell her. "Peyton's squeamish around needles."

"No problem. Can you lift your shirt?"

I stand and give Peyton my best how you doin' smirk as I lift my shirt. The nurse looks at my torso, then me, and huffs. "Yeah, this won't work. Hold on. You can put your shirt down." She stands, goes to the door, and hollers for someone named Ethel to come into the room.

Ethel does. She says hi and listens to our nurse.

"I'm going to demonstrate on Ethel," she says.

"Turn away," I tell Peyton as I lean forward and watch our nurse grab poor Ethel's stomach. If it hurts, Ethel says nothing. Maybe she's used to it.

"You try," the nurse says. "You're going to grab a chunk of skin here and slide this in." I appreciate that she didn't say needle.

"How far?"

She shows me on the needle where to stop.

"Okay. So, I'm going to rub the spot with an alcohol wipe and then . . ." I show her what I remember. "Will Peyton need a bandage?"

"Nah," says Ethel. "You can dab the spot for a couple of seconds."

I nod. "Got it. Her uncle is a physical trainer. If I don't feel confident doing it, I'll have him come over."

"Or she can come back here."

"Right, yes."

The nurse has me practice a few more times on an orange and then tells Peyton she's going to administer her first shot. She has Peyton stand, which I know isn't going to go very well, so I stand with her.

"Put your hands on my shoulders and your face in my chest."

My fingers grip the edge of her shirt and pull it up, watching the nurse's every move. She catches my gaze and smiles.

"You're one of the good ones, aren't you?"

"She's my wife," I tell her. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for her." I hate thinking there are shit men out there, not helping their wives with this stuff.

When the nurse touches Peyton's skin, she tightens her hold on me. I lean toward her ear. "Do you know how excited I am to watch your belly expand with our baby?"

"No," she says quietly.

"This morning when you were in the yoga room, I imagined you all plump, nurturing our son or daughter, giving them the best start to life. You're going to be even more beautiful than you are now."

"All done," the nurse says.

Peyton looks up. "That was it?"

The nurse smiles. "You didn't even flinch."

Peyton looks at me. "Maybe we should talk to Xander because that was really easy."

"Sounds good to me. If we head to his gym, I can get a workout in."

We take our supplies and thank the nurse. On the way out, she taps me on the shoulder. "You really are cut from a different cloth," she says.

I don't take compliments well, not when it comes to people saying I'm a good husband. It's not something I practice. "Like I said, there isn't anything I wouldn't do for her."

"You should teach a class or something," she says and walks away.

In the elevator, I pull Peyton into my side. "Am I different from other husbands?"

She shrugs. "I've only had you. I suppose I could test a few others out and get back to you."

I tickle her side. "Absolutely not. Oh, and this reminds me. Do you have a freebie list?"

Peyton's brow lifts. "Do you?"

"Do you know what a freebie list is?"

"Yes, we all made one in high school."

"Really?" Now I'm worried. I mean, I get it. She dated others but what if Kyle Zimmerman is on it. Or someone I know? What if she put someone like Adam Levine or Lenny Kravitz on there? How am I supposed to compete with Kravitz?

She nods. The elevator door opens, we exit, and then walk right out through the open door. It's overcast but warm out today.

"Who's on your list?" I ask as I open the car door for her, and she gets in.

"You."

"Ah, babe." I kiss her. "Who else?"

"Just you, Noah."

"What, really?"

Peyton nods and pulls the seatbelt over her lap and buckles it. "Yes. The idea of a freebie list is to put celebrities down. I think I was a senior when I did mine at some party or something. Anyway, you were going to be drafted, which meant you rated as a celebrity. I put you down."

"So, in theory, your list is complete."

She cups my cheek. "Yes, Noah. You completed my list for me the night of my senior prom."

I take her hand and kiss her palm. "That night, I should've told you how I felt."

"Well, I know now."

I close the door and hustle to the other side. Once I'm in and have started the car, Peyton says, "Do you have one?"

"No. I didn't even know what it was until my dad talked about Cindy someone being on his list, and then he said my mom has one."

Peyton shakes her head.

"Did you know?"

"No, but it doesn't surprise me."

"I swear, I don't even know my own parents."

Peyton laughs. "Come on, let's go get some lunch. And we'll make you a list."

"No need," I say as I pick up her hand and kiss the back of it. "You'd be the only name on it, so why waste the ink and paper."

"Ah, you love me."

At the red light, I lean over and kiss her. "Eh, you're all right."

The slap across my chest echoed, and it stings, but it was so worth it.